


Evening on the Ground

by captaineifersucht



Series: Dressed in the Scenery [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Language, M/M, Thranduil is a designer & bard is his body guard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3196625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaineifersucht/pseuds/captaineifersucht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>They were both all smiles, bright and carefree in their love, in Thranduil’s successful evening.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening on the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibalsketches made me do the angst.   
> I'm a slave to this AU

It was a stupid mistake.

Bard knew that, ran over the scenario again and again, as if he could change his movements and his choices. The loop replayed itself in his head as he paced on the white linoleum, brought back to the reality of the hospital when the floor squeaked beneath his shoe on a turn. The smells here were sterile, not fragrant. The organized movement of nurses and physicians, beds going to and from rooms in the opposite pattern of wheelchairs reminded him of the coordination of the make up teams following models.

Reminded him of how he’d gotten in the way, how he’d let his own desires overtake his ability to do his job. It wasn’t the show that he’d interrupted, not even the timed rhythm of preparations hours or minutes before. He had failed in the most crucial moment, when Thranduil had entered the lobby to answer questions posed by journalists and shouted by fans. Where he was vulnerable.

Bard was teasing Thranduil, pinching his ass through too tight, shiny silver leggings and whispering in his ear how he couldn’t wait for them to get in the car. He should’ve been paying attention, but the other’s laughter was intoxicating, a magical pealing of bells that resounded in his ears. 

They were both all smiles, bright and carefree in their love, in Thranduil’s successful evening. There were photos taken. 

Then there was an enraged shout, of the likes that Bard hadn’t heard before. A gun was fired. He was too slow, the trajectory already set. 

The bullet ripped through Thranduil’s left shoulder. 

Bard caught him as he fell, his own side arm pulled too late. The crowd disappeared, shifted to the side. One body ran in the opposite direction. 

He fell when Bard pulled the trigger, holding his knee. A weapon fell to the floor.

But there was still Thranduil, bleeding through white wool to stain Bard’s suit, breathing raggedly and eyes wide in panic. 

“ My arm, I need my arm, Bard!”

He was grasping at the buttons on Bard’s shirt, trying to move his injured limb. Bard held it firmly by the elbow, ignoring how slick the fabric was growing. He used his other hand to press into the entry wound. 

“ I know, baby.” There were sirens. “ Don’t move, okay?”

If Thranduil lost use of his arm, it would be Bard’s fault. He might not lose his business, with the army of seamstresses below him, but it would devastate the designer. He tried to stay the tears, the burning in his throat. 

Thranduil’s eyes slipped shut, from the blood loss, as paramedics rushed inside. His lips were slack, blood flicked and smeared across them.

Bard was told to back away, and he firmly pressed a kiss to Thranduil’s forehead. “ I’m so sorry, love.”

\---

“ Mr. Dale?”

Bard’s head jerked up from where his chin rested against his chest. He’d finally sat, managed to rest in the stiff chairs of the surgical waiting area. He couldn’t will himself to speak, only nodded at the woman who had spoken. She led him down a hall to conference room marked _Consultation_ with a post it note affixed below, marked with the doctor’s name. 

A tall, red-haired doctor entered the room after five minutes. Her scrubs were a pastel blue, white labcoat pressed and luminescent in the lighting. She sat and smiled gently.

“ The surgery went very well, Mr. Sindar is in recovery right now. He’ll be there for two hours to come out of anesthesia. His room will be ready for you to enter in an hour.”

Bard nodded, trying to keep up. “ But his arm. Is there nerve damage?”

“ He was lucky. The brachial plexus is intact, there is some possibility of superficial numbness in the shoulder. We won’t know the extent until he wakes. He should attend physical therapy for a month or two, and give his arm a rest.”

“Okay,” he breathed. “ Okay. And I can see him in a few hours?” 

“ They’ll call you in the waiting room again.” She was standing, signalling that it was time for them to leave. But Bard still had so many questions. He couldn’t bring them to the surface, felt them bubbling in his abdomen. 

He followed her out, feeling faint. It was nearly midnight. He needed to check on the children. 

“ I’m going to leave the medical campus,” he told the secretary who took down his phone number. She gave him a sympathetic smile and a coupon for a free coffee in the canteen. 

\---

At home, the kids were all in bed. Bard kissed each of them and then sat on his bed. Thranduil had spent the previous night here. He felt his chest tightening, a sob shaking his shoulders.

He couldn’t make a mistake again. He had to choose one role or another.

The following morning was a Monday. Bard left a note for the children, telling them to go back to bed and he would be home in the afternoon. He would call the school in the morning. This was a family emergency.

\---

Thranduil was sleeping peacefully when Bard entered his room on the twelfth floor. The moonlight bathed his face, created a perfect picture of rest. Bard knew it was synthetic.

He wanted to rip the nasal cannula from the other’s face, remove the IV and stop the steady _drip, drip_ of hydromorphone, to shut off the machine which rhythmically beeped a heartbeat and whirred to life for blood pressure readings. 

Bard wanted to reverse time, and prevent the gauze tacky with lymph and clotted blood from wrapping Thranduil’s shoulder. The superficial image that Thranduil created masked the pain that was sure to ravage his body.

It was Bard’s fault. 

He felt guilty holding the delicate hand, the one free of a needle, but he needed to tether himself down. It was three in the morning. Bard settled into the recliner by Thranduil’s bedside, trying desperately to will away the tightly coiled tension in his muscles.

Sleep came faster than expected. 

\---

_“ Bard, my arm.”_

He woke with a start. A nightmare. Sun was shining through the slatted blinds, but Bard still felt exhausted. It must be early.

“ My arm!”

Not a nightmare. Bard sat up straight and stared at Thranduil, who was smiling with glee and flexing his fingers. He looked pale, the grey hospital gown washing what little color he had from his skin. A heavy blanket was bunched at his feet, sheets wrapped around his waist. The IV was still dripping, concealing the pain.

Bard had to smile too, because relief was washing through him. He hadn’t ruined everything. 

“ I love you.” He still felt guilty. It seeped into his tone.

Thranduil’s smile faltered. “ I’m not angry with you, Bard. You couldn't have known. We’re lucky no one else was hurt.”

A hand clasped his own. Bard sighed. “ The kid was targeting you, the police called me later. There’s an officer outside your door. I should have been able to see him. It’s not safe, for me to be there. You need someone detached.”

“ There was nothing you could do!”

“ I sent an e-mail last night--”

“ I like having you around! I like knowing you’re there, to protect me, my big, strong--”

“ But I didn’t protect you!” Bard stood, dropping the hand and backing away. “ Look, you got _shot_ , Thranduil. It’s not safe. I’m resigning.”

Thranduil placed his injured arm atop his abdomen, bent at the elbow. His lower lip was trembling, eyes glassy with unshed tears. He turned his face away from Bard’s gaze. Bard hated this, he hated what he had done. It was going to happen, sooner or later. 

Running his fingers through the thin blond hairs near Thranduil’s ear, Bard placed a kiss on his forehead, temple, and cheek. “ I love you. I need to call the middle school, and then the agency. There’ll be a new guard to replace the police officer this evening.”

Fingertips grazed Bard’s wrist as he left the room.

\---

Thranduil’s assistant visited him that night. The young man brought his phone and take out from his favorite Indian restaurant. Although his phone buzzed twice with incoming texts, Thranduil couldn’t bring himself to open them. He knew they would be Bard. He knew that the new guard was standing outside his door. 

He rolled over onto his good shoulder and stared at the wall instead of into the hallway. 

\---

After three days, Thranduil was discharged. He texted Bard sparingly, trying not to feel bad about the quick replies he was met with. 

The man who drove him home was stoic and muscular. He wore a buzzcut and simple clothing. They were quiet for the duration of the drive, Thranduil’s eyes on the passing trees and greenery. 

Days turned into a week, and the near radio silence was driving Thranduil mad, although he’d been the one to impose it. He didn’t answer calls, gave vague reasonings to why Bard shouldn’t visit. Physical therapy wore him out, made him irritable. 

But he knew that Bard would never care about something like that, would happily have dealt with his grumpiness. He couldn’t stand the idea of Bard thinking that he’d failed, that he was not capable, that he was unable to care for Thranduil. It wasn’t fair for him to push Bard away when the other man was only doing what was necessary to protect him. Bard knew best in these situations and if Thranduil was upset, he needed to get over it. 

He toyed with the idea of calling, but it was a Saturday. Bard typically tried to cook brunch for the five of them at this time. Thranduil felt desperation rise in his throat. He needed to go home--not the empty lavish apartment he sat in, with a guard whose introduction he’d refused to listen to. 

“ I’m leaving,” he called. The guard was to end his house-stay today, now that the threat was all but neutralized. “ I’m going to see Bard, don’t worry about driving me. I shouldn’t be back tonight.”

\---

Bard worked hard to involve himself heavily with the children, to stop worrying about Thranduil. He knew the other man was being guarded by the best in the tri-state, but it didn’t help ease his concern, that was less related to an actual, physical threat, and more to do with the emotional distance between the two of them. Had Thranduil come to terms with what had happened after getting off the morphine drip? Had he realized that Bard failed him and decided to break things off?

Bain complained about him being overbearing as they sat about the table, eating pancakes and talking about homework. Bard tried to look scandalized, and ended up with syrup in his beard.

“ Thranduil is better with geometry than you are, da,” Sigrid pointed out after he offered to help with the math. Bard grunted. He hadn’t come up with a good excuse as to what happened, outside of Thranduil going out of town for awhile.

“ Well, I don’t know when he’ll be back, but I do know that your problems are due on Monday. So I’m your best bet.”

Bain cackled, because apparently the mere idea of him doing math was hilarious, but the laughter was soon overtaken by the sound of the doorbell. 

The three of them surged towards the front door. Tilda reached the knob first, yanking it open and squealing at what stood behind the glass storm door. 

“ Thranduil!” They all thought it was a happy surprise, the girls hugging him and Bain even managed a side arm-ed one. Bard grinned, but it was strained. He didn’t want to have this conversation. 

He shooed the children away and engulfed Thranduil in his own embrace, careful of the healing shoulder. Bard tucked his chin into the other man’s neck, inhaling deeply. Thranduil shook against him. When they parted, tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

“ I love you, Bard,” Thranduil croaked. “ I want you with me, all the time. At work, at home, everywhere. You made a mistake, but I don’t care. I’m fine, I want you back. I trust you with my life.”

Bard thumbed Thranduil’s cheek, wiped away the saltiness that clung to the skin there. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all, but he couldn’t be happier. “ It’s been a conflict of interest since we started fucking, sweetheart.”

A laugh, finally, though wet with tears.

“ I love you, we’re good. I never, ever want to leave you. But it’s better if someone else is there, okay? He’s the best, I trust him to protect you.”

Thranduil nodded, wrapped his arms around Bard’s neck to pull him down for a kiss. It was salty sweet, the velvet skin that Bard had dreamed of touching again finally touching his own. A tongue nudged against his lips, but Bard pulled away with a look that read _later_.

“ Can I use my shoulder to make you spoil me?” Thranduil whispered against his ear. Bard could feel his smile.

“ Anything.”


End file.
